Valentine's Day 1969
by mysid
Summary: Remus learns that with a bit of luck, he might get to go to Howwarts.


Disclaimer: Remus and his world belong to J.K. Rowling.

Author's Note: The SBRL Yahoo Group ran a Valentine's Day Challenge. I accepted the prompt for 1969: Remus learns that with a bit of luck, he might go to Hogwarts.

According to HBP, Dumbledore became Headmaster in the 1950's. According to PoA, Dumbledore became Headmaster shortly before Remus was enrolled as a student. Don't blame me. For this story, I've chosen the one that works for my plot.

"The Coral Island" by R.M. Ballantyne is a "boys' adventure novel!" with slashy overtones (_if_ you tend to see those).

Many thanks to my beta-reader, **zevazo**.

**Valentine's Day, 1969**

**Opportunity**

_"Nature creates ability; luck provides it with opportunity."_

—_François de la Rochefoucauld_

Remus flipped his through his copy of _The Coral Island,_ looking at the few colourful illustrations: the sailors pulling together to raise the mainsail, Jack poised with an oar to fight off the shark, Jack, Ralph, and Peter seated around the warm glow of a campfire. The story itself seemed unequal to the task of holding his attention tonight. He had finished all his school work, so his parents wouldn't mind if he watched a television programme. He'd come upstairs after eating his supper so they could have "a romantic Valentine's supper at home," but if he kept the sound low on the telly, it shouldn't disturb them in the kitchen.

He crept down the stairs listening with a ten-year-old boy's dread of catching his parents kissing, ready to bolt back up the stairs at the first suspicious sound.

"—what this has to do with Remus," his mother said in an exasperated tone.

Remus did what anyone would do when hearing oneself discussed; he froze in place and strained to hear more of the conversation coming from the kitchen.

"It has _everything_ to do with Remus," his father said. He sounded just as exasperated. It was the tone he got when he tried to explain some archaic aspect of wizard culture or one of the Ministry's regulations for werewolves to his wife, and she simply refused to see why it had to be the way that it was.

Remus peeked around the corner, saw that the kitchen door was closed, and dashed across the hallway to a corner where he'd be able to hear even if they lowered their voices.

"If Dippet—"

"I thought you'd accepted that he's going to go to the local schools," she interrupted.

"He's a _wizard_, Julia. He deserves to go to Hogwarts and to learn to use his gifts. I _accepted_ that he might not get to go there, but I never stopped hoping."

Hogwarts. Remus almost started in surprise. Hogwarts was a part of his mental list of "Things I'm Not Allowed To Do." Not allowed to go to Hogwarts, not allowed to visit the Isle of Glass, not allowed to have children, not allowed to travel outside the country without special permission from the Werewolf Registry. His father had _told_ him so; he'd never hinted that there was any chance Remus might be able to go.

Remus curled up in the yellow wing chair in the corner where he was hiding. He tucked his feet underneath himself and leaned over the arm of the chair to listen to his parents. If they came out, he could sit back and—hopefully—stay unnoticed. He couldn't hear any more conversation, only the sounds of water running in the sink. Remus wondered what had changed that Hogwarts was now possible.

Remus's father's voice interrupted the silent stalemate in the kitchen. "If Dumbledore becomes—"

"I understand," she snapped. "I just don't—_Why_ do you want him to go to Hogwarts? Your people have never shown the slightest hint of accepting Remus. Why should we send him to a school where he'll never fit in?"

"Like he fits in at his current school?" his father asked mockingly.

Remus did flinch then. He'd _tried _to make friends, but one way or another he'd scared them all away. Now he just tried to keep his head down and stay unnoticed.

"That's not fair," his mother said. "Half of the reason he has trouble fitting in is because of magic."

"Exactly," his father said triumphantly. "Which is why he should go—"

"Because he couldn't _control _his magic," she clarified, "but he's learning to control it now. It shouldn't be a problem any more."

Remus had slipped just last October, but no one else in his school had noticed, and he had not told his parents about it. It hadn't been worth mentioning—it wasn't anything like the time he'd accidentally set a desk on fire when he was seven.

"He isn't controlling it; he's suppressing it. At Hogwarts he could learn to _use_ it."

He could be a wizard, just like his father. He could learn to control the magic that ran through his veins and use it to shape the world around him. Maybe he could even learn to control the dark magic inside him so he wouldn't be so dangerous.

"I don't see why you're against this," his father said. "Do you remember the first time Remus levitated one of his toys? You were just as excited as I was."

"It was an airplane," she said softly. "He thought it ought to fly, so it did."

Remus couldn't remember that day, but he could picture it in vivid detail. It had been a warm spring day and the daffodils were in bloom all around their garden. His mother had left Remus and a handful of toys on an old plaid blanket in a sunny corner of the garden while she hung wash on the line. She'd looked over to see him pushing a car around on the blanket while a toy plane circled around his head. He knew the details because it had once been a favourite bedtime story.

She'd stopped telling it a few years after he'd been bitten. Around the same time, his father had removed his Hogwarts mementos and his magic books from the living room bookshelves and packed them away. When Remus had asked why, his father had told Remus that he would not be allowed to attend Hogwarts. They'd been preparing him to live his life as a Muggle ever since.

"It's his birthright," his father now said. "He deserves the opportunity, and Dumbledore agrees with me."

"And the rest of the staff?"

"He'll have to keep it a secret from most of them, but he can do that. He does it now. He hasn't growled at me since—since the last time I told him he couldn't watch 'Benny Hill'." He was obviously trying to make his wife laugh, but it didn't seem to work.

"Your people _hate_ him, Aeneas. Why should he have anything to do with them?"

"Julia." Remus heard a chair scrape across the floor. When his father spoke again, Remus had to lean farther forward and strain to hear. "If I thought we could make Remus's life better by cutting off all contact with the wizarding world, I'd do it. In a heartbeat. But we can't. He'll always be tethered to it. Twice a year—"

"The Werewolf Registry, I know."

"Would you prefer he deal with them as a fully-licensed wizard, or as a virtual Muggle?"

"Since I _am_ a Muggle, I think I'm supposed to be insulted by that." But Remus could hear a smile in her voice—the first time she'd sounded that way since he'd begun listening.

"You go tell Remus it's time for bed," his father said, "and I'll do the washing up."

Remus was out of the chair and heading up the stairs before his father finished speaking.

When Remus finally awoke the next morning, he was glad that it was Saturday and that he'd been allowed to oversleep. He hadn't fallen asleep easily. His mind had been too full of the conversation he'd overheard.

Hogwarts. He _might _be permitted to go. And if he were permitted, would he want to go? His father wanted him to go there; his mother did not. Remus clearly foresaw that this could become one of those rare cases where they allowed him to decide.

He _did_ want to learn to use magic. When he was younger—before his father said that he could not go to Hogwarts—he used to find straight sticks in the garden or in the woods and wave them about pretending they were wands. In his imagination he would create towering castles from the mist, battle fire-breathing dragons, or just send a bully sprawling with a tripping hex. He hadn't pretended a stick was a wand in years.

He had, however, "borrowed" his father's wand once or twice—or more—just to see if he could channel his magic through it, and he _could._ He'd even taught himself a small bit of wandless magic. He could light candles or a fire without matches or a wand, but it took an enormous effort.

How much more could he do if he had his own wand and if he were _taught_? And maybe, if he were smart enough, and strong enough, and _good_ enough, it wouldn't matter so much that he was a werewolf. He would be a wizard too.

And maybe, just maybe, he would learn magic that would help him control the wolf. It was a curse after all, and his father always said that only magic could fight magic.

On the other hand, his mother was right about how the other Hogwarts students would feel about him. He'd be putting himself in the midst of people who hated him. Muggles didn't even believe in werewolves, so they certainly didn't hate or fear them. His classmates were a bit afraid of _him,_ but he'd had difficulty controlling his temper when he was younger. He was better at controlling it now, and his mother always kept him out of school on the day before and day of the full moon—just in case. He hadn't growled at a schoolmate in over a year.

But even if he did growl, Muggles would simply see it as proof that he was strange. A magical child might figure out what Remus was. Could he risk that?

In the end, he decided that if he went to Hogwarts, the worst that could happen would be his classmates figuring out what he was and his being thrown out of the school. If that happened, he would return home, attend Muggle schools, and prepare to live his life as a Muggle like his mother. Since that was exactly what he would be choosing if he didn't attend Hogwarts, what was the risk?

It was a chance, an opportunity to live the life he'd once believed would be his. Of all that had been stolen from him the night he was bitten, this was one thing he might get back. If he got the opportunity to go to Hogwarts, he'd take it.

He lingered on the stairs trying to eavesdrop again, but he didn't hear any conversation, just the sounds of someone washing up. He continued into the kitchen and found his mother at the sink.

"There you are," she said brightly. "I thought you were going to sleep the day away. Do you want some porridge; there's a bit left."

Remus was already reaching for the box of Weetabix in the cabinet and grunted his refusal. He didn't mind porridge, but only if it was still hot. Nothing else said, "Skip breakfast," like congealed porridge. His dad's warming charms might make it edible again, but reheating it on the cooker never worked right.

"Where's Dad?"

"He had an errand to run in London, so he popped over. He should be back soon," she said as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel.

Remus saw atop the table a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ half hidden by the local Muggle newspaper. While his mother was busy pouring herself another cup of tea, Remus pulled the "Prophet" closer and scanned the headlines: _"Muggle Inflation Strains Magical Economy, Falcons Trade Keeper, Dippet Remains Hospitalized."_

Dippet. Remus remembered that name from his parents' conversation last night, but he didn't remember what had been said about him.

_"Armando Dippet, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, remains a patient at St. Mungo's Hospital in London. Headmaster Dippet collapsed while alone in his office on Thursday afternoon, but the __portrait of Dilys Derwent, former Headmistress of Hogwarts and a former healer at St. Mungo's, obtained help for him swiftly._

_"Healer Ptolomeus Tidmarsh, overseeing Headmaster Dippet's care, confirms that his patient suffered a severe stroke. 'Although the Headmaster has not yet awoken, we hope for a full recovery,' said Healer Tidmarsh._

_"When asked if there were any indications of poison or other foul—"_

"What are you reading?" Remus's mother asked as she took a seat at the table.

"Just some article in _The Daily Prophet_," Remus replied, and he picked up his spoon—only to realize that he'd forgotten to pour the milk on his cereal. His mother passed him the milk bottle with a smile.

"You really do need a haircut; it's getting messy again."

"I like it this length," he grumbled.

"Just a slight trim. Neaten it up around your ears a bit." She'd win eventually. Remus figured he could stall for one more week at the most.

His eyes drifted back over to the paper, scanning the article until he saw "_Dumbledore_." He remembered that name too. His father had said that Dumbledore wanted Remus to attend Hogwarts.

_"When reached for comment, Deputy Headmaster Albus Dumbledore said, 'I, and the entire Hogwarts community, hope for a swift and full recovery for Headmaster Dippet. Our thoughts are with him.' Professor Dumbledore also assured the public that Headmaster Dippet's absence will in no way disrupt the students' education.__"_

Dumbledore was the Deputy Headmaster. He would run the school while Dippet was in hospital and would likely become Headmaster if Dippet died.

"Are you reading about the Headmaster of Hogwarts?" his mother asked.

Remus nodded and pushed the paper away. If Dippet got better soon, he'd be back in charge of Hogwarts, but if he didn't recover, Dumbledore would be in charge, and _he _would allow Remus to attend.

"He sounds like he's in pretty bad shape, but they can fix all kinds of things at St. Mungo's, right?" he asked his mother—hoping she would say no.

"Not everything," his mother said. Something in her tone told Remus not to look up at her. He hated that sad look she always got when thinking about his lycanthropy. "Your father's father died of a stroke. From a series of strokes, actually."

"I didn't know that." Remus hadn't had any contact with his father's family since he was bitten. He'd known that his grandfather had died but not how.

"Two years ago. Your father went to see him while he was at St. Mungo's. He said that the healers kept him comfortable, but couldn't do much more. They seem to be very good at fixing broken bodies with magic, but not as capable with broken minds."

Remus bit his lip to keep from smiling. He wondered how bad a person it made him that he hoped Dippet would not recover.

—written February 2007


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